


Here, At The End Of The World

by PastelBlueDahlia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Smut, could be considered underage in some countries, the choose not to use archive warnings is a warning itself, the fic where Viktor lives in a small town and hides that hes gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBlueDahlia/pseuds/PastelBlueDahlia
Summary: He promised himself he would stop thinking about the way fabric stretches and dips on the backs of boys in class, would stop his thoughts from straying in wrong directions whenever a guy friend slings his arm around his shoulder and leaves that woozy feeling in his stomach.He wanted to stash them away for a couple of years and then finally in college, far away from the people here, he would be who he really is and kiss someone he likes. Later later he only has to hold out now.And yet.- - -Viktor fucks his dad's coworker aka Yuuri





	1. Chapter 1

 

Viktor is 16 and waiting impatiently to break the world over his knee and shovel its contents out with greedy, stained fingers. He thinks he‘s an adult, thinks he knows of deeper, more meaningful things than other people his age, that he‘s somehow _more_ than others.  
  
He‘s 16 but it feels like on the day he was born there was some special deal in heaven, something like get 2 to the price of 1. He‘s 16 but feels at least 32, and when he feels the growing pains in his mind he wonders if the others will ever catch up with him.  If there will ever be at least one person who fully understands him.  
  
His life consists of school and friends and the many, many complaints his parents have about his alcohol consumption, about the whole _coming home so late it‘s already the next day-thing_ , about the fights they have whenever his mom searches through his room when Viktor is especially gloomy or quiet and wedges his hands under his tights, the impatience nagging at him from the inside, hoping to find alcohol or weed or something that would explain just what exactly is wrong with Viktor and why her star, her _everything_ , started to descend into a ruthless, mindless teenager just like everyone else.  
  
But Viktor isn‘t stupid.  
  
His weed stock is hidden in a commode between panties and bras from his friend Mila who always demands one gram per week she has to hide it. In other words, if Viktor actually had saved enough from the money his parents always give him for late night McDonalds trips he was high for an entire week because he‘s 16 and life is long and hard and fitting into his skin is sometimes simply too much effort and maybe he just wants to stride over to the commode of a girl and search through her underwear like it's normal.  
  
He would never brag about this to other boys and Mila knows that, and maybe that‘s the reason why she lets him do it. Or it's that sense of wickedness, the feeling that they're doing something wrong and scandalous, something that would make Martha Schmitt who‘s Mila‘s obnoxious neighbor clutch her pearls and cross herself.  
  
And it reminds Viktor of old movies where the bad boys always tangled the pretty but characterless girl into some sort of adventure, the romance blurred into it like a color. They had that glow, had the perfect pomade hair, the crooked smirk and teeth as white as bones, their eyes like a challenge as if they were saying _that wasn‘t even half of it, just you wait._  
  
Viktor wants that, wants to be that person and wants someone to keep him on the edge of his seat with their sweet promise of _just you wait._  
  
Viktor doesn‘t have hobbies except for soccer and then playing more soccer on his PlayStation. He hates calling things hobbies, hates casually mentioning the things he does in his free time. He always says things like _lately I really like, lately I really enjoy_ , analyzing others faces about their reaction and slowly pretending to lose interest in that thing when he notices it‘s not something others would expect him to like.  
  
If he‘s asked about it he‘ll say _lately I like going to the bar_. Everyone knows what the bar is since there‘s only one in this comatose little town. It‘s the very first building people see after their pastel town sign that welcomes them in with its peeled off paint before they get swallowed up in the mellow greens and browns here at the end of the world.  
  
He goes there once a week on Saturdays because that‘s the day the farmers come together to take a break and try to impress each other with dirty jokes they thought about in the vastness of their fields and most importantly: drink until the bathroom becomes a war zone of smells too abominable to speak about.  
  
Viktor‘s dad is always here on Saturdays and Viktor automatically feels his shoulders unfurl at the sight of him. Viktor doesn‘t really like his parents together, but he loves them individually. He acts different around his mom, he‘s more snappy and pointlessly mean even though he loves her, but the problem is that he always wanted to _be_ her and the fact that he _can't_ be her is lodged in his throat like an apple seed  – he can‘t shallow it and can't spit it out.  
  
He still hasn‘t learned how to distance himself from people without hurting them, amputates them painfully instead of letting them slowly drift apart, the pain scattered over time so that it only hurts when you think about it.  
  
His dad in comparison comes close to the bad boys of those old movies, and sometimes he imagines his parents in them, those beautiful, beautiful people in those adventures. Since he started coming here it feels like he‘s grown closer to his dad, like they're sharing a secret.  
  
When his dad is lying on the couch with his feet up and an ice pack on his forehead, his mom nagging in the background, his dad sometimes lifts the ice pack and winks at him or rolls his eyes. He only started doing this recently, and Viktor is sure that it's because of the Saturdays. The air yellow and golden, his shoulders jumping up and down as he giggles from the stories his dad tells him about the time when he was 16, the sweetness of shots making the corners of his mouth sticky and his breath smells like melons.  
  
Here, his dad always laughs louder and seems 20 years younger and Viktor sometimes wonders what that means, and then he takes another shot and stops himself from thinking about it.  
  
He knows that there are parents who would never let their 16 year old son even near places like this, all that small town narrow mindedness with their judging eyes, the whispering in front of churches when Viktor has painted fingernails, and it‘s stupid because it‘s only clear and it was meant as a joke and probably because Amanda wanted to flirt with him and touch him but he still tucks his fingers into the safety of his palm when he sees other people on the street, and at home letting the acetone bite into his hangnails when he scrubs the faint shine off like it‘s offending him personally when it‘s all about not offending other people.  
  
Viktor is already seen as strange with his long hair, peoples eyes glued to the back of his head as if he isn‘t aware of how much he stands out like a sore thumb. He always tells people different things; one time it‘s a bet he had with a childhhoodfriend who then moved, another time it‘s because he looks so much like his dead grandma, and sometimes it‘s just an eyebrow wiggle, voice sultry like butter melting in midsummer when he stretches his hands over his head talking about how he wants to be prettier than his future girlfriend or likes it when girls tug on it.  
  
Maybe that‘s the reason why this place is such a safe haven for him; he doesn‘t need to flirt, doesn‘t need to be liked by girls but can‘t be too confident about it in front of guys because jealously likes to tear friendships apart with a wolfish grin. Here, there‘s no one from school. He‘s surrounding by adults whose laughs boom in his ears like firecrackers and grab his shoulder hard in a way that makes the bottom of Viktor‘s stomach hum, and he so desperately wants to be one of them soon and tell them crazy stories about his youth, his brain floating as he thinks about the possibilities his future holds.  
  
The irony of this situation, of dreaming from talking about his great youth when he spends his actual youth sitting with men twice his age doesn‘t go unnoticed by Viktor. The awful thing about youth is that it gives you the illusion that you'll always be young and that nothing will ever change.  
  
Sometimes Viktor can feel how his dad‘s interest slips away when they‘re here. They never arrive together, but when Viktor finds him they naturally start to gravitate towards each other before eventually they're pulled away again. It's like they‘re planets and cross each other once a week in their orbits before Viktor is Viktor again, the soccer player who kisses girls and never cares who might see him, a teenager in his infamous rebellious phase, and his dad is just a dad who clicks his tongue at the news.  
  
But sometimes even when they're here he won‘t glance at Viktor, no matter how much he drinks or how red his eyes are. In those moments it feels like Viktor is the last person on earth.  
  
It‘s like everyone around him is secretly a robot, designed to imitate humans perfectly, warm and buzzing under their silicon skin, but all that imitation is superficial. They wouldn‘t think about hugging Viktor or ask him, in all seriousness, if he‘s okay – they‘re not programmed to do that.  
  
They‘re programmed to joke with him and wink at him when they press glasses full of liquor into his hands, asking him if he has a girlfriend yet. And he plays the role of the vibrant, confident always laughing boy with a surprising mean streak who has the whole bar howling sometimes, but he loves it, loves the amber light and the smoke tickling his ripcage from the inside and how he can be the center of attention in a matter of seconds, he _loves loves loves._  
  
He loves so much that he feels soiled through with these feelings. Not because he thinks those feelings are wrong, but because he already knows what others would say if they knew, how their insults would stick to his skin. He knows when he hears 'faggot' it's never aimed at him. But he still flinches, knowing it's a matter of _when_ and not _if._  
  
There are always rumors about someone in this town, god there are even nasty rumors about Viktor that involve their school counselor and a desk, but those rumors are usually quickly rebuked when that certain someone gets a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Viktor sometimes can‘t look away from them and their obvious display of  happiness and he wonders if there is someone who‘s better at concealing these things than him.  
  
These type of rumors extend even to adults. There's a pretty famous hook up spot on an abandoned parking lot. Viktor knows all about it; knows about the cars parking there in save distance to each other, knows about the slight rocking and the fogged up windows, condoms discarded in the woods like a corpse to never be found, a dirty shameful thing that needs to be hidden.  
  
If there is one person who people talk about more than Viktor and his long ponytail and his habit of shamelessly displaying just how much he loves girls in front of everyone, then it‘s his dad's coworker.  
  
He moved here when Viktor was 12, probably, and his dad invited him over for dinner when he was 13, and Viktor was helplessly charmed by him. He remembers not being able to look away from his hands, these big, sunburnt things. He wanted to see how their hands would look pressed up together.  
  
Viktor always spent his summers in camp, so when suddenly no one mentioned Yuuri's name anymore he was a little taken aback. But Viktor heard things here and there, something happened in summer, somewhere, with Yuuri and someone else, and Viktor felt bile at the back of his throat, the words slashed across his face like he had been hit.  
  
Since then Viktor‘s been searching for some signs, something that would give him away. But there's nothing and at the same time there's everything; from the way his eyes wander, that quirk in the corner of his mouth, the glint in his eyes that tell Viktor he hasn‘t seen anything yet. Viktor shallows down the want to ask him about it.  
  
He shallows it down so much that every once in a blue moon when he‘s lying in bed he thinks about Yuuri‘s hands on him, the rough calluses riding up his thighs, so open that Yuuri could dive right into him and Viktor would bite into his straining neck, taste the sour tang of his cologne.  
  
Viktor is 32 and he tries to not do the stupidly easy math of their age gap.  
  
He promised himself he would stop thinking about the way fabric stretches and dips on the backs of boys in class, would stop his thoughts from straying in wrong directions whenever a guy friend slings his arm around his shoulder and leaves that woozy feeling in his stomach.  
  
He wanted to stash them away for a couple of years and then finally in college, far away from the people here, he would be who he really is and kiss someone he likes. _Later later he only has to hold out now._  
  
And yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing is a mess and I kinda hate it but if i dont post it now i would never post it so yeah. If someone is interested in a next chapter then please leave a comment!


	2. Chapter 2

 

Yuuri has a scar on his left eyebrow, a tiny pale thing in his sunburnt face. He braces one arm on the table as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, his thumb brushing over his stubble. It makes a faint noise that reminds Viktor of sandpaper. The tendons of his hand flex, and then Viktor‘s eyes wander to his biceps in that tight shirt and he wonders how it would feel to wedge his fingers into the tight space of his sleeve, how different the warmth of his body would be.  
  
“Hey,“ he says and Viktor‘s eyes snap up and he immidately feels like he got caught, and he thinks about last week, about stumbling into Yuuri‘s arms as he came out of the bathroom, mind fogging up even more as he clutched to his biceps, the glowing heat of his face and Yuuri‘s unreadable expression. Viktor wonders if this made him a blip on Yuuri‘s radar now, if he‘ll finally get the sign he has been waiting for because how could Yuuri have missed the open want in Viktor‘s face then, when Viktor was too dazed to hurriedly shove it back in again?  
  
“Do you want to see something cool?“ he asks secretive as he leans forward. Viktor struggles not to breathe in the smoke, tries not to think about what he‘ll do once he‘s home in the darkness of his room when the smoke has climbed into his clothes, his body, his cells, how Viktor sometimes swears he can feel him there, multiplying and searching greedily for more space in Viktor to occupy.  
  
And _god_ does Viktor want to let him.  
  
Viktor nods and barely manages to put on a slight smile as Yuuri puts his foot on the bench they‘re sitting on and rolls up his jeans, revealing his ankle and calf. Viktor has never seen so much of his leg before, and it only becomes more obvious how different Yuuri is from him. Viktor‘s legs are pale and smooth and they get round and thick when he sits, more a girl than a boy, while Yuuri is perfectly sunburnt, hairy and has muscles that flex with the tiniest of movements.  
  
He reminds Viktor of statues, of artists gliding their hands along the curves of men to learn how to make the soft marble bend. Viktor imagines the soft hiss his hands would make if he touched Yuuri‘s back. Thinks about the hiss his own body would make if he‘s touched in return.  
  
Yuuri clicks his tongue and then quickly looks around the bar before he gets up and unbuckles his belt with quick fingers, his cigarette hanging in the down turned, concentrated corner of his mouth. Viktor‘s heart pounds and then something lower and lower, and he‘s scared that he‘ll get found out if he gets hard now.  
  
It feels too intimate, watching Yuuri undress right in front of him in the now pretty much empty bar. It doesn‘t feel like he‘s allowed to watch and more like he‘s peeping on him. But if he looks away now that would be like he‘s acknowledging that this is happening, that this is wrong somehow, and Yuuri would probably take this as a sign to stop and that Viktor doesn‘t want this.  
  
He shallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn‘t want this to be wrong.  
  
Yuuri's jeans pool around his knees before he props his foot on the bench and points at his thigh. “Do you see these scars? I got them when I was around your age, I think. I had a little accident with fireworks because I was too busy staring at a guy who skated into a pool from a roof,“ A laugh tumbles out of Viktor‘s mouth, bright and loud, and Yuuri‘s lips split into a smile that shows his perfect teeth.  
  
His eyes drop to the scar, the thick muscle of his thigh ragged. It looks like bits and pieces were bitten out of his thigh and time put fat and muscle and skin over it. A war zone, a no-mans-land grass started to slowly grow on again to hide old wounds.  
  
“Looks painful,“ Viktor says and blinks up at Yuuri‘s face as he lights himself another cigarette. Viktor wonders if he should ask if he could give him one too, but he doesn‘t want to embarrass himself with coughing.  
  
His face burns orange for a moment before he breathes hard out, the smoke curling around his nose, “Oh it was,“ he says and looks at his thigh again, “I was such a stupid kid, I‘m getting all embarrassed just thinking about it,“ he laughs warmly. He looks straight at Viktor as he does it, not at anything else- and then he watches Viktor for so long that it feels like radiation burning him, and Viktor swears he can feel him under his skin. He takes another drag, eyes narrowing, “You know,“ he says, “You really don‘t remind me of myself back then. I can‘t imagine you doing stupid stuff like that, you‘re- I don‘t know, mature?“ Ash crumbles as Yuuri gestures with his hands like he‘s trying to conjure the words out of thin air, “Sometimes I think you‘re even more mature than most of the people living here,“ he puffs out a laugh, something bitter creeping into his voice.  
  
But Viktor‘s heart sings, floats, and he can‘t help but smile because that‘s just the kind of person Yuuri is; he always says the things Viktor needs to hear the most, and it‘s good- it‘s so good to be seen from someone else as the person he wants to be. Not in some faraway future that may never come but that someone looks at him and tells him ‚You‘re already where you want to be‘.  
  
Yuuri closes his warm hand around Viktor‘s wrist, squeezing it before he guides it to his thigh. Viktor‘s breath hitches as he feels the dips and hills of the hardness of Yuuri‘s thigh. His fingertips move over the zigzaggy scar, his heart aching in sympathy as his lower half throbs in want. A breath stutters out of his mouth as he moves his hand in an almost reverent movement up Yuuri‘s thigh until his fingertips tuck under the hem of his black boxers. All that dizzying warmth of him makes him want to recoil and put both of his hands under Yuuri‘s clothes.  
  
Viktor looks up into his face, and Yuuri is so close he can smell the musk off his cologne and the bite of smoke, all of it making him heady. He smirks, his eyes glossed over with the same heat Viktor is sure he would find in his own face.  
  
“We‘re the same,“ he says, so quietly it‘s nothing more than a rumble that purrs through Viktor. He wants to lean closer, wants to not miss a single word. He takes another drag of his cigarette, and Viktor stops caring if he notices him breathing in. “We‘re the same, right Viktor?“  
  
It seems like Viktor managed to nod because the next thing that happens is that Yuuri pulls away, a laugh curling around the corners of his mouth as he pulls up his pants. Disappointment churnes in his gut but then that perfect hand comes back and settles on his wrist to pull him out of that quiet smoke filled room and into the biting cold outside.  
  
Most of the cars are gone, and something stabs him in the chest as he notices that his dad‘s car is gone too. And he tries to tell himself that it makes sense because he came by bike and that it‘s not the first time his dad went home without him but it still lodges itself into his throat that god knows what could happen to him and his parents would start to look for him in two, maybe three days, because ‚boys sometimes need to run free‘.  
  
Yuuri opens the door to his bright red pick up truck and gestures Viktor to get inside, smiling like he did so often in the years they‘ve known each other. It doesn‘t really fit into this moment now, when their relationship is going to change so drastically.  
  
Viktor clambers inside the backseat, his palms sweaty and his mind fogged up. He wishes he wouldn‘t be drunk and at the same time wishes he would be more drunk. He doesn‘t know what to do, what to say, and his mind freezes completely in the few seconds it takes for Yuuri to walk around the car and sit down next to him.  
  
Viktor looks at him in the halfdark. He wants to try and lean into him, see what he‘ll do because this- he can‘t possibly have misinterpreted that, he thinks frantically and searches for clues, for evidence that Yuuri wants him and notices how few it actually is. He wants to do something, test out the waters, but he‘s a burned child.  
  
And then he looks at him, almost arrogant with a new cigarette already hanging in the corner of his mouth, and he‘s pretty the way all dangerous things are. Viktor‘s finger itch to reach out.  
  
Then, he moves; he leans closer and puts his hand on the backrest of Viktor‘s seat, and he swears he can feel the heat of his hand. His shoulders tense up automatically but he can‘t help it. His blood is thrumming with possibilities.  
  
Yuuri reaches his hand out, and it lands on Viktor‘s knee. He braces himself for the impact and breathes out quietly as Yuuri‘s fingers press in the underside of his thigh. It‘s mesmerizing to watch how Yuuri‘s fingers spread over his skin, claiming him possessively in such a simple gesture, and for once in his life he doesn‘t mind being so pale because in Yuuri‘s hands he looks _pretty_.  
  
His fingers slip under the hem of his shorts- a reminiscence of what Viktor did to him in the bar, but that already feels worlds away- and Viktor is sure he makes a sound in his throat as he leans back into the seat as if to remind him that there‘s more to touch, to give him silent permission.  
  
He‘s never been this hard in his life.  
  
“Is this okay?“ Yuuri asks, his breath hot and wet in Viktor‘s ear. He can only nod and carefully spreads his knees further apart, but Yuuri takes all the heat away as he settles back in his own seat, his hand gone from Viktor‘s skin like it's never been there in the first place. He laughs, a breathy thing that stabs holes into his lower belly.  
  
“You need to tell me clearly what you want,“ he says, and Viktor knows that he‘s only teasing. But the fear is sitting thick into his throat and chest, and it ignites something like anger inside him as he puts his hands on Yuuri‘s shoulders and climbs awkwardly into his lap.  
  
He‘s so afraid that he‘ll be pushed away that he can‘t voice what he wants. He knows, the second he puts it into words it becomes a weakness, stupidly easy to exploit. It‘s safer when he does it like this, when he lets his actions talk for him; the more ambiguous the better. If it turns out that Yuuri is only playing with him he can laugh about it.  
  
He breathes out, his fingers woven together behind Yuuri‘s neck. He‘s not used to sitting in someone‘s lap.  
  
“ _Please_ ,“ he begs breathy and shallows. Yuuri lets his head fall back against the headrest, his eyes going half lidded as he smiles up at Viktor.  
  
“Please what?“  
  
Viktor opens his mouth, but he has no idea what to answer. Maybe Yuuri isn‘t the person he should do this with after all. But then again, does he really have another chance? This is his only chance to feel close to another human the way he so desperately wants, _needs_ to. He knows, he can‘t wait years to have this again; he needs it _now_. Needs it from Yuuri because Viktor has never like this in his whole life, has never met someone who could make his knees buckle with a single touch.  
  
He tightens his grip around Yuuri‘s neck and leans in. “ _Please_ ,“ he whispers, his voice rough, “Please, I want you to fuck me.“  
  
Suddenly lips are on his neck and he yelps as teeth sink into his skin. He breathes out slowly, his lashes fluttering as he bares his neck to give him more room because _god_ , Yuuri‘s mouth is so _hot_.  
  
Something uncoils inside of him, a ball of tension that only makes him focus more on Yuuri‘s mouth and hands because now that he knows he‘s wanted he doesn‘t have to hold himself together so desperately. Yuuri‘s hands settle on his hips, digging into the fabric of his shorts in a way that makes him wish he's naked.  
  
There‘s a strange imbalance inside Viktor, things roaring their heads and breaking loose he doesn‘t want to examine too closely. It feels like he‘s a ripe fruit, presenting itself through its luscious smell and vibrant color to be taken, devoured, so it won‘t just waste away but indulge others in its rich taste. A decadent thing that realizes its own worth and patiently waits to be devoured. Viktor is young and pretty and Yuuri should be happy to have him like this at all.  
  
These thoughts are mixing with the strange kind of hopelessness that makes his heart ache because he wants so much, wants to be taken apart and loved throughly and he‘s still not sure if he can trust Yuuri with that, if Viktor won‘t be the talk of the town tomorrow.  
  
Viktor feels vulnerable in a way he usually never feels. He never realized until now how much trust it takes to let yourself fall and how much control you have to lose if you want to give yourself over to someone, and even now, as he feels Yuuri‘s cock poking him, the whole hard heat of it, he‘s not sure if he‘s not making a terrible mistake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, in the hospital: IF IM NOT PRODUCTIVE IM NOT WORTH ANYTHING!!!
> 
> So yeah, that's why please have this. Also please comment, IS THE YOI FANDOM DEAD OR IS MY WRITING JUST SHIT???


End file.
